The Night Healer
by Bryher
Summary: Dagonet isn't the only healer in Cilurnum. ONESHOT.


**Name:** The Night Healer

**Summary**: Random idea. Women fought on the same standing as men, yada, yada, yada, you know the score. Only, Dag isn't the only healer at Cilurnum.

**Rating**: T

**Author's Note: **Er, hi. I know, I've been gone for ages. I wouldn't blame any of you for not reviewing or reading or whatever- truth is, it's been pretty shit for the past few months. I'm not asking for understanding or forgiveness or sympathy. Just letting you know that I plan to be back for as long as possible. If I go again- and I might- then sorry. Hope you like.

* * *

Gawain watched the small figure emerging out of the mist, her skirts damp from the evening dew. From his vantage point on top of the rampart, he could see clearly along the side of the Wall to the western gate. The torches were being lit for the night, their flares lighting up the knight's face with a feral glow, eyes sharp in the half dark. The woman had a bag across one shoulder, and a bow and quiver over her shoulder. Dark curls blew up in the gentle wind, obscuring her features.

'Who is she?'

Glancing down, Gawain looked at the Roman soldier standing on the walkway. The torch in his hand and the pointed look at the unlit brazier above the golden knight's head signalled that he was one of the night watch.

Nimbly jumping down from the rampart, Gawain watched the soldier reach up and touch the torch to the kindling in the iron holder. The tinder caught almost instantly, flaring up. 'I don't know,' he said after a moment. 'She's new.'

'Refugee?'

'Maybe,' Gawain replied, looking down to the western gate. Tristan stood leaning against the Wall, an apple in one hand and a knife in the other. After a moment, he pushed away from the wall and unlatched the gate.

She stepped inside, raising her head to look around the fort. Her features were delicate and tired. She seemed to sway where she stood, and Gawain realised that she was exhausted. Her lips pursed into a frown as Tristan took her bag from her, slinging it over his own shoulder. Gawain blinked, unsure of what he had seen. Watching them walk toward the barracks, he realised that she barely came up to the scout's shoulder, and that Tristan's hand had been placed at the small of her back, guiding her through the crowds.

'God be damned,' the soldier laughed behind him. 'Would you look at that?'

'Aye,' Gawain murmured. 'Could you imagine?'

* * *

Artemis stumbled into the corridor and felt Tristan's hand move from her back to her arm. 'You shouldn't have come this far without an escort,' he said quietly, voice stern and annoyed. She laughed, the sound that passed her lips barely more than an irritated huff. 'I thought you said that the knights were getting ready to ride out?' she replied, wincing at the sound of her own croaky voice. Tristan's hand tightened on her elbow as he steered her into his room, giving a passing nod to Dagonet, whose confused expression said volumes as the door slammed behind the pair.

'Dagonet?' Artemis guessed as she flopped down on Tristan's cot, face buried in the cover. Tristan said nothing, piling wood onto the fire. 'It was the scar,' she gasped weakly as the knight rolled her onto her back, fingers going to the bodice of her dress. One side of it was stained dark. His hand came away sticky, coated in blood. Pulling the dress open, he looked at the wound that stretched from under her breastband to her hip. It was shallow, but long.

Touching his fingertips to the raised flesh, he felt for the heat of fever, ignoring Artemis as she swore and bucked under his hand. '_Bastard_. Watch what you're doing.'

Tristan glared at her, and she glared back, eyes pained. 'You going to fix me or just look at it,' she bit out after a moment. It wasn't a question.

Turning away, he took a long knife, thrusting it into the fire and leaving the hilt to rest on the flagstone hearth. Artemis looked at it with wide eyes. 'Ah shit. One of those jobs, is it?' she giggled weakly, fear barely keeping itself out of her voice. Tristan tossed her a yew twig, which she caught in one hand. 'Put that between your teeth,' he instructed, wringing out a cloth from the bowl on his washstand. Artemis shoved the twig into her mouth, dropping her head back onto the pillow, eyes shut tightly.

Pulling the dress off as far as he could, Tristan began to clean the wound, dabbing and wiping away as much blood as possible. Artemis groaned from behind her gag, hands clenching in Tristan's sheets. 'How'd you get this?' Tristan asked once the wound was clean. 'No serious damage- just a flesh wound. Easy to sort. A training accident?' Artemis spat out the gag, giving him a sour look.

'Woads came in the night, butchered the blacksmith's family. Took the girl child. We fought, but we lost. Too many of them.' Tristan bent his head close to her stomach, tilting his head as he narrowed his eyes, searching for any imperfections in his ministration. 'I've told you,' he murmured, fingers light and cool on her skin as he gently tapered the edges together, 'you should live here.' He ignored her sharp intake of breath as he released the wound.

'Live here?' she repeated with a short laugh. 'With you?'

Tristan got up and turned back to the fire, drawing his blade from the heat and watched it glow in his cloth wrapped hand. 'I don't see why not.'

'You know why not,' Artemis snapped, shoving the yew twig back into her mouth as he approached. 'Mnnf fnuhh vv ssldd.'

Tristan pressed the blade into the wound and Artemis screamed, back arching up from the bed. He forced her back down with his forearm, leaning on her to prevent movement as he worked his way quickly up, lifting the edge of her breastband to press the blade against her ribs, sealing the wound. Artemis continued to fight, shouting and screaming muffled words behind the yew, though she did not spit the twig out. Tristan flung the blade back into a corner, keeping one arm pressed over the top of Artemis' chest, the other going to the arm on her far side and pinning it to the bed. He watched as her face, scrunched up in pain, steadily relaxed, her struggles lessening. After a moment, she opened her eyes and lay still, looking at him. Letting go of her, Tristan stood.

Spitting out the gag once more, Artemis growled weakly, 'You bastard.' Tristan shrugged, going back to the wash stand and wringing out the cloth, placing it over her burnt skin gently. 'Had to be done.'

'You didn't warn me this time- that because I said I wouldn't live with you?' she asked quietly, eyes now closed as Tristan carefully and gently lifted the edge of the cloth to soothe a balm over the red flesh. 'Yes,' he replied easily. There was no shame in admitting it. It wasn't the first time that she had refused his protection, and it riled him. Besides, Artemis and he had an understanding. Each knew that the other was cold. Her skin jerked under his hand as she laughed. 'You're a cruel one, Tris.'

'I am.'

After a long silence, she spoke again, though this time, her voice was tinged with tiredness. 'It's easy, this thing that we do, Tristan. I come, we fuck, I go. I fight, you fight, if we lived together, we'd end up killing each other. Besides. You're still in love with her.'

Tristan stiffened, though this time his hands remained gentle. 'With who?'

Artemis pushed herself up onto her elbows with a hiss of pain. Tristan promptly pushed her down again, leaning over her. 'Don't act like the fool, Tristan, it isn't becoming,' she snapped. 'Isolde.'

He kissed her then, lips bruising and hard against Artemis' own bloody ones, She must have bitten her lip at some point around the gag. 'I'm not asking for love,' he growled.

'No, you're not,' Artemis agreed. 'You're asking for convenience. I'm not convenient, Tristan.' He looked down on her, head tilted to one side, eyes burning. 'That said,' she continued, 'You mind if I stay until tomorrow? I can't travel tonight.'

Tristan shrugged, going back to his ministrations. Artemis, satisfied with the response, settled back.

And so an agreement was reached. There was nothing that really needed to be said, other than the necessary. Gawain continued to see the woman approach the Wall, sometimes injured, sometimes hurrying on horseback when word had gotten around that Tristan was injured. But the night healing went on.


End file.
